


Fear and Delight

by FlamtaersRevenge



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Drunken sex, Exactly what it says on the tin kids, F/M, Mahjarrat, Pain, Rough Sex, Scratching, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamtaersRevenge/pseuds/FlamtaersRevenge
Summary: Oswin probably shouldn't have even been alone with him. Then again, she'd stopped giving a damn long ago.
Relationships: Player Character/Sliske (Runescape)
Kudos: 17





	Fear and Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Art trade with the excellent [Enkoro](https://twitter.com/enkoro_art). Inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKGqaU8ZgAs) animatic.

At a particular moment in time in an Ardougne side street, Oswin was acutely aware of three things: the taste of vodka lingering in the back of her throat, the mahjarrat in front of her, and the fact that she was in deep, deep shit.

She didn’t know how it started, exactly. Had Sliske hunched over to meet her, or had she attempted to pull herself up? It didn’t matter. All she knew was that he’d lifted her, grabbed her around the back of her legs as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and  _ gods… _

Oswin wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected. The strange, hard texture of his lips, perhaps, but not the heat. His skin was as hot as lava, burning her to the touch, but she just kept pulling herself closer. He’d lifted her even higher as her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands were traveling lower — specifically, to her ass, perhaps as a way of supporting her, but she suspected he had other motives.

She didn’t protest.

He was moving, swaying, sort of, as they kissed each other. She felt him turn, and then her back was pressed against the wall, giving her more support, though his hands never shifted. He pressed himself harder against her, and she heard the beginnings of a deep rumble in his chest.

Was this how mahjarrat worked? Could they even want this sort of thing with a human? With their own species? 

But there they were. And the bastard seemed to be  _ enjoying _ it. 

His hips were locking against hers, pinning her against the wall, and all she could feel was heat, heat against her, scorching, unrelenting. His hands had traveled upward from her backside and were now digging her way under her shirt. 

His fingertips made contact with her skin, and Oswin sucked in a drawn-out hiss. The texture of his hands was utterly alien — strangely hardened, yet soft and smooth in their own way as they ran over her back and around her torso.

Her breath quickened, and as his hands traveled over her skin, something in her suddenly snapped. She was clawing at his robes, trying to find some sort of purchase — wrench them off, feel more of that intoxicating heat, and he suddenly pulled away. 

“I think,” Sliske rumbled, his voice low, “somewhere a bit more  _ private _ will do.”

He snapped his fingers, and the alley vanished around them. Still wrapped around him, they landed on what sounded to be marble floor. Oswin vaguely recognized the surroundings as that of the Empyrean Citadel, but she wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she lunged forward and kissed him again, tracing her tongue across his lips and pulling herself even tighter to him. 

Sliske lowered her to the floor, and she felt cold stone press against her back as he continued to kiss her, his hands reaching under her shirt again. 

She took this as an opportunity, pulling at his robe again, and managing to get it over his head and flung away to the side after a regrettable pause in the kiss. He, too, took a moment to pull away her shirt and toss it in the same careless direction as the robe before kissing her again, his hands running over her waist and up to her breasts, resting his palms over them and squeezing. 

Oswin sighed, her heartbeat now growing faster, and his hands traveled down her sides again and curled under her pants and underwear, grabbing her bare ass with renewed intensity as he pushed closer. Growling in frustration, she grabbed the waistband of her leggings and pulled them down, kicking them away in hurried disgust. 

As she pressed herself to him, there was something — some small, muffled instinct in the back of Oswin’s mind — that told her to turn tail and run. Which was totally warranted, of course. Having an eight-foot-tall…  _ thing _ that killed your god and had two divine weapons in his possession looming over you probably wasn’t the best course of action. 

But… fuck it.

Fuck it. Fuck it all, she thought, as he lowered himself down to kiss her again, and she felt his weight exquisitely crushing her, and his skin searing her wherever it touched. This was the craziest thing she could possibly do, right? Did she even give a shit that it was? Everything about it felt wrong and  _ good _ , and maybe it felt good because it was wrong. 

Whatever. To hell with wrong. 

He was burying his face in her neck again, and she involuntarily groaned. She could  _ feel _ him grin into her shoulder at that, and she was about to snap back with an insult when the shithead bit her. 

It started with his teeth merely grazing her and stinging her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. When he bit down, pain blossoming from where his teeth sank into her, she let out a shout — more from surprise than anything. Then she felt him retreat, his lips leaving a cold spot just above her clavicle where they parted. 

“Too much?” he muttered. Was that worry in his voice? No. Probably feigning it, Oswin figured. The sting on her shoulder lingered, but in a way that demanded completion.

She shook her head. “Do it again,” she said. “On both —”

She didn’t even complete her sentence before he was on her again, teeth running up and down her neck, sucking and licking and nibbling and reducing any sound she could manage to make to quick gasps. 

Her legs snaked around his, pulling his hips closer to hers. With the robe out of the way she could really feel it now — his dick, hard and unignorable. 

So he  _ was _ enjoying it, she realized, as she took in that hardness and the teeth at her neck and hands currently groping her ass. Sliske was touching her like he was starving — something else that should’ve set off alarm bells, but instead, she gladly reciprocated. The grip of his hands alternated between soft and fleeting to hard and squeezing, as though he were barely holding back. 

Something within her almost wanted to make him lose that tiny modicum of control. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. 

Instead, she shifted under him, feeling that hardness from before press against her. It was hot, like the rest of him, and she felt him tense as it grazed against her. 

“What?” she said, half-muffled by his shoulder. “I’m waiting.”

She couldn’t see his expression, but she did feel the sigh he released, long and drawn out and heavy. Then he shifted his grip on her, his hands trailing up her back again and leaving little scratches in their wake,  _ gods help me this is too much, _ and then without warning he pushed up and _ in. _

Heat. That’s the first sensation that comes to mind — like liquid fire in her core, against her pelvis, her whole lower region was aflame. His weight settled against her hips and all she could do was breathe, breathe and dig her nails into his strange and rocky skin. He stayed there, settled, for a moment, and he was breathing quick and heavy breaths above her, his eyes closed…

Then he started moving. Slowly, at first, barely meeting her hips with each push forward. Even though it felt good, Oswin couldn’t help but feel a spark of rage — was he treating her like something fucking  _ delicate. _ The godsdamn  _ nerve _ . 

Clenching her jaw, she growled, and with a sudden movement wrapped her legs around his and met him at the hilt, slamming into him with full force. 

Sliske let out a low sound in his chest again — too feral to be a groan, but not truly angry. His eyes met hers, glittering with some unknown mix of emotion — shock? Bemusement? They stared at each other, unblinking. 

_ Go on, _ Oswin thought.  _ I fucking dare you. _

He sucked in a breath. Then, he rearranged his grip on her, sliding one hand up and curling it under her arm and around her shoulder, and leaving long shallow scratches in its wake as he trailed up her neck and dug his fingers through her hair.

The other hand he wrapped around her waist, tight and vicelike as he shifted over her, digging his nails into her skin with a squeeze. She began to moan, but she was cut off as he pulled her closer, meeting her lips with a biting kiss and savagely ramming himself into her.

For a brief moment he had control over her, slamming in over and over as his grip moved her entire body. 

Then she met him as he slid into her, even as it bruised her hips and made her bones ache. It was a beautiful kind of pain, really, one she craved as their hips clashed together. It made her feel something. It made her feel  _ alive _ — a sensation she’d been denied for far too long. 

Each time he pushed into her she pushed back, each time growing in strength and intensity, refusing to slow or ease. She wasn’t sure if they were fucking or fighting; in fact, it felt like both at once, pushing and pulling and anticipating his movements so she could counter them, raking her nails across his skin and meeting him with equal force every time he slammed into her. His heavy breaths had turned to full-on growls, ear-splitting and deep as he continued to hold her close. 

It was like fucking a force of nature — an earthquake or a wildfire, dangerous and uncontrollable, and all she could do was keep up as he filled and emptied her over and over with increasing speed and strength. Every time she moaned it was a shriek, raw and ripping from her throat, and she made no attempt to suppress, merely digging her nails into his back even harder. 

He was getting close now — he was becoming faster and more frenzied, his rhythm devolving into messy desperation. Then she felt his dick twitch, and sensed him beginning to pull away. Instead, with a frustrated grunt, she pulled her legs around him even tighter. 

With his strength, Oswin reflected, he probably could have torn away from her if he wanted to; but instead he allowed himself to be pulled back, pushing into her deeper than before and tightening his entire grip around her. His entire body tensed; he let loose a ragged shout, and Oswin felt herself filled with molten fire. 

She cried out as it seared through her like her insides were being eaten, but still she refused to let him pull away. He stopped moving, instead holding her close. She stayed sealed to him, his hot breath running over her shoulders and soothing the stinging scratches that were now making themselves known. She returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging to him as the burning subsided. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed that way, their breaths slowly evening out and their bodies gradually relaxing. Oswin was covered in sweat, and as it evaporated she felt a chill creep over her skin, compelling her to embrace him and his heat all the further. 

Sliske said nothing, instead holding her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. 

And, to Oswin’s further surprise, she didn’t protest.

There was an unspoken agreement hanging in the air, heavy and pervasive. And it said: This might never happen again.

And, it added: This changes everything. 

This was probably something to be dwelt upon a little longer. But the vodka dregs were bubbling up again with a promise of a headache, which wasn’t really an optimal setup for rational forethought.

Oswin was tired, the mahjarrat was enticingly warm, and she’d stopped giving a damn long ago. 

_ I’m gonna be hurting in the morning,  _ she thought.

_ Whatever. I can worry tomorrow.  _ And, with that, and with Sliske’s arms wrapped around her, she dazedly drifted off into sleep. 


End file.
